CHAPTER XXV

The Visitor At Dusk

To say that Phil was astonished, would have been to be putting it mildly. The sight of this young, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, where he had more than half expected to see the villainous face of Espato, robbed him for a moment of the power of speech. He simply stood and stared.

The girl had closed the door, or rather, signaled that it should be closed, for it was pushed to from the outside, and had turned to him with a shy smile on her face.

“You are surprise to see me, senor, are you not?” she asked in a soft voice.

Then as Phil, fearing a trap, still did not answer but just stood staring at her as though she had been a ghost, the girl gave a musical little ripple of laughter and moved closer to him.

“You do not trust me, senor, perhaps,” she said, and Phil flushed as he saw she had read the thought in his mind.

“I—I—,” he began and then stopped short again, absolutely unable to think of a sensible thing to say. He hoped he didn’t look as foolish as he felt.

But the girl had stopped laughing and now she laid a timid hand on Phil’s arm.

“You are tired and ver-ry miserable,” she said with a pretty seriousness. “Will you not sit down on the bench, an’ I will sit on the other end of it so we may talk?”

With a feeling that he must surely be dreaming he did as the girl bid him, watching her incredulously.

Could it be that she was actually friendly to him and was trying to make him understand? In this camp of enemies such a thing seemed impossible.

“Why do you stare at me so,” she reproached him and at the words he drew his eyes away from her, flushing uncomfortably. He must have been staring foolishly.

“I—beg your pardon,” he began and again she laughed that soft little ripple of laughter.

“You are very polite, Americano,” she said, adding demurely as she seated herself and pulled her short skirts down as far as they would go, “But I do not mind, really. It must be much surprise to you that I am here.”

“Well, yes,” said Phil, beginning to pull himself together and act a little more normal. “I must say I wasn’t really expecting you.” He smiled and the girl clapped her hands gleefully.

“Good,” she cried in her pretty voice, “It is good the Americano can still smile.”

Then she clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced at the door apprehensively.

“If I let them know of my presence here,” she said, half as though she were speaking to herself, “I will neither be able to help you—or save myself. I must use—what is it you Americanos say—I must use the caution.”

She smiled at Phil showing two rows of even white teeth, and for the first time hope really began to stir in the boy’s heart. If it were not all an elaborate trap—and somehow he thought of Espato as being more direct in his methods of vengeance—then this girl might really prove a valuable ally in escape.

Escape! The camp again, life and adventure, freedom! At the thought his eyes began to sparkle and he looked at the girl with new interest.

As though once more she read his thoughts, the girl’s face clouded and she moved closer to him.

“You are thinking that I have come to help you to escape,” she said quickly. “But you must not hope, Americano. Hope is dangerous. It makes us do rash things. I tell you, it is almost impossible to escape from the camp of Espato.”

Phil’s heart sank again. For a moment in his disappointment he felt almost a dislike of this girl. Why had she come to raise his hopes, if all she intended to do was to dash them to the ground again? It wasn’t fair.

“But you must not feel altogether discourage’, my frien’,” she went on, swiftly, her voice softened almost to a whisper, and glancing still more often at the door. “For I, Juanita Marino, have come to help you if such a thing is possible.”

Phil glanced at her gratefully. He was ashamed of his impatience of a moment before. He knew that she was risking a great deal by coming to him this way. If she should be found out, in all probability her punishment would be almost as hard as his own, if not quite. She would be tried as a traitor—and Espato was not kind to traitors. He wondered how she dared.

Impulsively he reached out a hand to her.

“You are very kind, senorita,” he said, gratefully. “You should not risk so much for me—.”

“Ah, but I am not risking as much as you think,” she broke in quickly. “I should not have dared to come to you as I have today only that Espato and his men are afield and the camp is almost deserted. I watched my chance when no one was looking and then with the help of Tony Gomez—” she paused and bit her lip as though she had said more than she had intended. She glanced at Phil anxiously, as though she hoped he had not heard.

But Phil had heard. He leaned toward her eagerly.

“Then it was Tony Gomez who opened the door for you tonight,” he said, more as a statement than a question. “Then I was right in thinking the fellow wasn’t altogether unfriendly?”

The girl bit her lip and turned away. When she turned back to him again Phil was surprised and chagrined to find that her eyes were filled with tears.

“Ah, if I have so much as harm’ one hair of my Tony’s head, I hope that I may die,” she said tensely, then added, quite simply as though she had known him all her life, “Tony an’ I, we love each other, senor. If anything should happen to him, I know that I would not live.”

And suddenly Phil felt a warm affection for this simple little Mexican girl who confided her heart secrets to him with all the naivete of an innocent child, and yet who had courage enough to risk her own safety by coming to help him, a stranger.

“You needn’t be afraid that I’ll do anything to harm Gomez,” he said, gently. “An American never harms anyone who tries to do him a good turn.”

“Ah, senor, I knew you were like that,” said the girl, a smile banishing the tears in her eyes. “If I had not thought that you were good I should not have tried to help you.

“Listen,” she added hurriedly. “I have not much longer to stay. Every minute I stay is dangerous both to you and to me. If Espato should find me here—.

“Listen, senor. I was among those on the outskirts of the fire the night they brought you here. I do not often stay to watch the treatment of prisoners, for it sickens me. But when I saw you, I was interested. You were so young an’ you talk back to our great chief so fearless’. I was fill with admiration an’ my heart boil’ at the way Espato, he treat you.

“I say to myself, Juanita, if you can help that young Americano to escape, you must do so. He iss too young an’ too courageous to die by the hand of Espato. An’ so I will Americano, if I can but find the smallest chance.

“An’ now, I mus’ go. Perhaps I have already stay too long. Adios, Americano, an’ be of good heart. Juanita is your frien’ an’ Tony Gomez, also. There will come a chance—Adios, senor.”

And before he had time to speak, before he had even a chance to thank her the door opened by unseen means and Juanita Marino flitted out of his vision as swiftly and as silently as she had entered it.